Heat
by yoyo-anarchy
Summary: A chase gone awry leaves two brothers stranded in the snow. Unashamedly hc. Rated for language and mild description of injuries.
1. Chapter 1

**Heat. **

**Summary: **A chase gone awry leaves two brothers stranded in the snow. Unashamedly h/c. Rated for language and mild description of injuries.

**A/N: **Combining two of my favourite things… Raph/Don interaction, and h/c; unashamedly so. I also realize that turtles are cold blooded creatures and I'm actually not really sure if they'd even have body heat, but I guess they'd be warmer than snow. Rated for language, implied violence/injury etc. Constructive reviews most welcome.

I don't own any of the following characters etc.

* * *

**Heat. **

Fuck.

Raphael found that the curse was the first rational thought that he could muster; feeling that it very nearly adequately summed up his throbbing headache and pulsating, aching knee and shoulder. It also went a ways to beginning to put words to what he remembered of the crash.

He could still see the blinding light of a missile as it flew up the road towards them, the explosion ripping through the front of the Battle Shell. He could still smell burning metal and rubber, could taste blood in his mouth from where he had knocked his jaw against the dashboard, and vaguely knew chances were he wasn't merely remembering those things.

He saw himself making a last minute dive to cover Donatello as the truck whirled and spun towards the cliff side, and abruptly realized he needed to get his eyes open.

But that was evidentially going to be easier said than done. He heard himself groan faintly, as the full extent of the pain emanating through his body started to crash down upon him.

He forced himself to take a deep, steadying breath, and nearly gagged at the still very much potent stench of burnt rubber. If nothing else, it helped him to scrabble his way back into consciousness, and with a painful effort he forced his eyes open.

At first all he could see was black, and gradually realized that he was slumped across the driver's seat; head buried in the cotton seat cover. He angled his head up, hissing at the bolt of pain that darted through his neck, and found himself staring out into snow covered, tree spotted fields.

The door. The door was missing. Blinking, he waited for his vision to clear, and realized that the entire front side panel of the van had been ripped away. He squinted as a cold gust of air blew at his face, and wondered dimly where exactly they were. Still somewhere on the highway, no doubt, but he hadn't been paying a whole lot of attention to the road in the minutes leading up to the explosion. Perhaps Don had; he'd always been one of those rare individuals with multi-tasking abilities.

Donatello.

He jerked upright, almost instantly regretting the move but quickly abandoned a groggy stream of curses for the more pressing need to find his brother. He forced himself to sit up, wincing every moment of the way, and looked around himself.

The Battle Shell was absolutely trashed. Thick spider web cracks covered what remained of the front windshield, and smoke still coiled upwards from the twisted remnants of the front bonnet and engine. The passenger seat was still remarkably in tact, but Raphael could see the rock ledge beyond the foggy window would no doubt be holding the door closed tight.

Moving carefully to look behind him, the interior of the van was also more or less in tact, but the contents of the cabinets and containers had spilled out across the floor, creating a dangerous looking cluster of electrical wires, spare metal, and tools. No turtles.

He ignored the fear that settled heavily in his gut and turned back to the gaping hole at his side, peering out into the darkness that was quickly turning into a blizzard.

"Donnie," he called, hating the way his voice rasped and protested at being used, and he winced as he leant forwards, poking his head out into the night to scan the immediate surroundings. No sign of his brother, but there was even more metal and glass and ash covering the snow banks.

"Don!"

No answer. He paused to take a quick inventory of his own injuries, and came to the rapid and hasty conclusion that there was nothing life threatening, before climbing to his unsteady feet and dropping down to the icy ground.

It struck him that the scene looked almost post-apocalyptic. Stuck out in the wilderness as they had been in the first place, the destruction surrounding him looked decidedly eerie in the dim, snowy landscape.

He was drawn towards the faint light emanating from beyond a rise just beyond the Battle Shell, and he padded over slowly, gingerly; surmising that he had probably wrenched his knee at some point during the chaos.

Peering over the edge of the rocky drop, he sucked in a breath. At least he didn't have to worry about the thugs they'd been chasing.

All that was left of their vehicle was a slowly burning rubble of rubber and spare metal, spreading around and consuming what little shrubbery could be found on the cliff floor. Luckily the surrounding forest land was too far away for a fire to be any real concern, and all too soon the flames was fading away to nothing. It occurred to him that he would probably need the heat soon, already starting to shiver in the winter air, but knew there was little he could do about it short of climbing down to the wreckage.

Still no sign of Donatello.

"Shit," he muttered uselessly. "Donnie? Donatello!"

His voice was very nearly entirely carried away by a gust of freezing wind, and he slumped; fear and pain vying for dominance. He squinted against the stinging snow, searching for a sign of life, anywhere, anything.

As he ambled back towards the trashed vehicle, he felt his heart skip a beat as he suddenly spotted a dark smudge on the snow beyond the rear wheels. He lurched into a painful, limping run, undecided as to what he wanted to find. Growing closer, he realized with sickening clarity that the motionless form before him truly was his hurt brother, half buried in the snow.

"Don!"

Raphael dropped to his knees, ignoring the pain that shot up his thigh at the impact, and thoughtlessly pulled Donatello into a sitting position and out from under a thick dusting of snow. His brother groaned piteously at the movement, and Raph cursed himself quietly, wishing he'd had the presence of mind to check him for injuries before touching him.

Still, Don just sank back in his arms and curled weakly into him, screwing up his forehead and squeezing his eyes shut.

"Donnie? Can ya hear me?"

"… ugh…"

He swallowed, casting his gaze over his brother's body concernedly. He appeared to be whole save for general bruising, and one arm that was bent at a crazy, unnatural angle. He was also freezing, and Raph felt a keen sense of helplessness, especially after the loss of the fire.

"Donnie, come on bro, wake up," he urged, shaking him gently. "Open your eyes, Don, say something."

"… ow," offered Donatello weakly, and Raphael sighed, partially relieved. He watched as his brother shuddered and slowly forced his eyes open; glazed gaze not really focusing on anything in particular. "R-raph?"

"Yeah, it's me," he supplied, rapping his hand gently against his plastron. "And I don't know about you, but I'm feeling all _fun_ed out."

Don blinked at him, before letting his eyes slip closed once again.

"No no, buddy, stop that," he frowned, giving him another cautious shake. "It's too cold to sleep bro. You hurting anywhere?"

Don sighed, and Raph heard his breath hitch, and a weak cough.

"Don."

"C-cold…"

"I know. We'll get you warmed up, but first you gotta tell me where you hurt." First aid was definitely not his forte but he knew he didn't want to move his brother further if he'd hurt his back or something… Then again, he could hardly leave him curled up in the snow. He was already starting to feel sluggish and drowsy, and he hadn't been buried in the stuff for God knows how long.

"Arm," muttered Don at length, shivering violently.

"Yeah, I think you've broken it, bro," affirmed Raph, wincing at the appendage in question. "You look pretty whole other than that. You remember what happened?"

"This w-was…" began Donatello, teeth chattering, and he broke off in a wince. Raph tightened his grip gently, trying to be reassuring but not quite sure how to go about it.

"This was what?"

"Sup-supposed to be a… fun week away," he managed, smirking weakly. Raph laughed at the unexpected comment, relief flooding through him at his brother's apparent tenuous but stable grip on coherance.

"Yeah. Yeah I know. We turtles don't know the meaning of downtime."

TBC.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Er well apologies for the long update wait, I got hit with a hefty dose of real life in the past week or so. Plus this chapter gave me unexpected issues. Again with the language and violence warnings.

I don't own any of the following characters etc.

* * *

Raphael had limited vision in the darkness, and the swirling snow was stinging his eyes and face, but he was loathe to get up and leave Donatello alone in his icy puddle. So he made do with simply staggering to his feet, letting his brother rest against his legs, and squinting at his surroundings in earnest.

There simply was no cover. There were the trees, but he knew they wouldn't offer much protection from the wind or the cold. He'd been hoping to spot a cave in the rock ledge nearby, but he could see nothing but a sheer rock wall on their level, and he was hardly going to risk scaling the cliff beyond the Battle shell.

Which left… the Battle shell. He deflated a little, knowing that holding up in there was not going to keep them warm in the slightest; not with the gaping hole in the side, and metal interior.

He sighed. At least it was more or less dry in there. Maybe Don had stashed some form of cloth in there that he could use to block the wind. He looked down at his brother, flagging and limp against him.

"Guess that's that then, huh Donnie?"

Don just shivered and tilted his head, gazing up drowsily.

"That's… what?"

Raph smiled weakly down at him, growing more concerned by the minute. It was beyond strange for Don to be so inattentive and groggy, and he had to fight down a brief spell of panic.

_Cut it out,_ he growled internally. _Get a grip, and try and be helpful for a change._

"We're gonna head back to the Battle shell," he explained, raising his voice to carry over the gusty wind. "Short of abseiling down the cliff and curling up in the ashes of that other car, it's the warmest option. Unless you got any ideas?"

Don closed his eyes, taking a few moments to process the words, before nodding slightly.

"No… 'kay…"

Raph swallowed and crouched down, taking a gentle hold of his brother and lifting him cautiously to his feet.

"Up we go."

Don staggered almost instantly and Raph caught him, tugging him against his plastron and holding him up. Donatello reached out instinctively for him, and groaned softly, sounding frustrated at his inability to support himself. Raph chuckled softly, holding him close for a few moments; hating the way he shivered beneath his grip.

"You ain't invincible bro, you just got tossed outta a movin' vehicle. Give it some time, ay? Jeez I'm sounding just like you or Leo. C'mon, I'll help."

Inch by inch they moved back to the Battle shell; at least a dozen times Don stumbled and clutched at his head, and Raph very nearly gave in and carried him there bodily, but he had the idea that activity was probably what his brother needed there and then. Raph was more than half supporting him anyway, but what motion he was managing was probably helping to get his blood flowing.

"Legs feel okay?" he asked presently, pausing momentarily about half way there, letting Donatello catch his breath. Don shook his head, breathing raggedly out of both cold and pain.

"Can't f-feel 'em at all," he mumbled, and Raph smirked grimly.

"Well I guess at least they don't hurt."

He let Don rest his full weight against him for a long moment; holding him up as he peered around in a last ditch attempt to locate some real shelter. Or a payphone, or a box of matches. Realizing he was clutching at straws he sighed, making a mental note to listen next time Splinter lectured them all on being prepared. Save anything they could salvage from the ruins of the Battle shell, they had nothing to utilize to create fire, or chase away hypothermia, or even call for help.

Except…

"Shell cell," he muttered, brightening hopefully. Don shifted, humming faintly in question. "There's a Shell cell in there somewhere. Remember? Mikey kept ringing Leo on the way up here to piss him off, and Leo stashed it under your seat. Man, if it's still there, I'm gonna give Mikey a hug the next time he's an annoying pain in the ass. Shouldn't be a long wait. C'mon, let's get you in there."

"… Yours," croaked Don, inhaling weakly as Raph gently pushed him back into motion. He shook his head, silently berating himself for being so careless. Donatello had simply left his back at the cabin. The whole purpose of the week away after all had been to relax and recuperate after a long few months of fighting and tension and fear. The very last thing any of them wanted, and in fact it had been the first thing on the list of banned items, was a ringing cell phone. They had of course bought them along in case Splinter or the April/Casey household needed them urgently, but they had no other intention of using them.

Except for Mikey, who liked to have as many forms of being an irritation to work with as possible.

Raphael had even tucked his into his belt when getting into the vehicle with Don; not expecting to need it whilst gathering firewood, but deciding to err on the side of caution while it was snowing and at times storming out. Still, upon wakening, he'd discovered soon enough that keeping it on his body hadn't been a wonderful idea. It had been smashed against the metal interior during the crash, and discarded with little thought whilst he searched for his brother.

But he supposed there was a chance that Mikey's one survived the crash. Don had built them to be fairly sturdy, and Leo had stuffed it into the fabric fairly securely, trying to muffle the noise.

"Mine met with an accident. If Mikey's is still there, do you wanna call Leo, or should I," asked Raph aloud, watching Don's reaction time unhappily. Too slow. His brother blinked at him, eventually mustering up a soft laugh.

"You, thanks."

Raphael decided to worry about dealing with Leo when and if the time came, and shouldered more of Don's weight; coming finally to the wreckage. His adjusted eyes now took in the damage to the exterior of the Battle shell; the armored side was torn and bent irreversibly; scorch marks covering the metal and drawing attention to the fragments of steel that had simply melted into the paint.

Don stumbled against him again, and he tugged him up, trying to ignore the fear tightening in his gut. Don would be fine, he always was.

Reaching the gaping hole that was now the entrance point he swept an arm across the cluttered floor before him, clearing a space, and lifted Don quickly; choosing to simply not give him the option of protesting. His brother gave a weak utterance of surprise but by then he was already airborne, before he was carefully set down by the mangled driver's seat.

He curled against the torn fabric promptly, hugging his good arm to his chest. Raph winced, glancing at the obviously broken appendage, but wasn't prepared to attempt to help that quite yet. He stepped up and pulled himself into the Battle shell, dropping down heavily at his brother's side.

"Okay," he panted, hugging his arms to his own chest. "That's that. Now to start feeling warm."

* * *

"_Luck of the Turtles," Raph muttered darkly. _

_He heard Don chuckle distractedly, though the sound was muffled by the screeching of tires and scattered blasts of gunfire. Whoever these guys were, they were prepared, and they were angry. What they were doing in the mountains was anybody's guess, but Raph was starting to think that his family had picked a bad time to spend a quiet week away in the cabin. _

"_You sure this'll be enough to put a stop to them?" he ground out, grunting as the Battle shell swerved sharply and he slammed into the wall. _

"_It's enough to put a stop to a tank," assured Don from the driver's seat, eyes glued to the road ahead. "You sure you really want to blast them into smithereens though?" _

_Raph nodded, glaring at the control panel above his head that he had been trying to power up for the last two chaos packed minutes. _

"_They attacked us first, and I get the idea they ain't just gonna slow to speed limit once they hit the highway. 'Sides, you saw what they had in that truck of theres, and there's only so much they can blow up here in the middle o' nowhere, even with all that fire power. They're headed back to the city, mark my words, and _fuck_, Donnie, does this thing have any functions other than beeping and flashing red lights at me?" _

"_I told you you should drive," reminded Don, muttering under his breath as a bullet bounced off the (thankfully) thick glass windscreen, aimed directly at his head. "Raph-"_

"_Just keep up with 'em, you've said bullets can't hurt us here."_

"_I know, but all those explosives will, if we're too close when you hit them. When the light goes green, tell me before you activate the missiles." _

"_Yeah, one day when it turns green I'll be sure to let you know," he grumbled, struggling against the inclination to put his fist through the panel. For all Don's genius, he was yet to perfect the concept of simplicity. Where oh where was the big shiny red button that universally meant '_goes boom_'?_

_His brother swore unexpectedly as the vehicle gave yet another upsetting lurch, and Raph clutched at the closest seat, nearly thrown from his feet. _

"_Jesus, Don, let's go back, I think you missed a snow bank," he growled, thumping his shoulder against a storage container with an audible thump. "How do you expect me to get this thing up 'n running if you don't…" _

_Donatello cleared his throat suddenly and Raph paused, glancing down at his brother quizzically and tightening his grip on the seat as they swerved. _

"_What?"_

"_I don't want to alarm you, but…" _

_Don inclined his head and Raph followed his gaze; hissing through his teeth as he finally realized what the reason for the reckless driving had been. The wide doors to the rear of the truck had been thrown open, and he could make out the forms of several men; steadying what looked like one hell of a missile launcher, aimed right at the Battleshell. _

"_Shit."_

_With a deafening blast the world slowed to a sickening crawl. He launched himself towards his brother, already tugging desperately at the wheel, but they both realized at around the same instant that it was too late for evasive action by now. He heard their own missile panel beep happily at them, the rumble of machinery whirring above his head, his brother's startled intake of breath. _

"_Donnie-"_

TBC.


End file.
